


break me down, build me up

by thirteengrins



Series: I've got you anyway [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, PRE timeless children for the master, Substance Abuse, set POST Timeless Children for the doctor, she just needs her friend, the doctor is a big ball of angst, the master is a soft boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23560507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteengrins/pseuds/thirteengrins
Summary: He swallows back his disappointment and says, bitterly, “I thought you were better.”She opens her eyes to meet his. “I thought the same of you.”The Doctor has managed to fight off her self-destructive tendencies for months, but the revelation of the Timeless Child sends her spiralling back into old habits. After slipping back into addiction, she travels back to see the Master, who has yet to live through what she knows.Basically, the Master is a big old softie who's been helping his friend with her issues for as long as he can remember. Blanket cuddles ensue.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: I've got you anyway [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695769
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	break me down, build me up

**Author's Note:**

> The Master is a soft boi. We love him.

He was alone, like always. Parked somewhere on a planet he’d been to as a teenager, just for a pit stop before he headed off somewhere else to cause more mayhem. It was the only thing that kept him going these days, trouble-making. The only thing that seemed to spark the light in him that he used to have, years ago. Millennia ago.

The suns are starting to set where he is. They cast purple-orange glows over the sandy dunes outside. He stands up from the sofa — if humans got one thing right, it was their furniture — and moves to the window, where violet light floods in.

The planet with the three-hour sunset. He remembers it now.

He leans against the window ledge. Presses his cheek to the warm glass, looks down at his hands, turns his palms over and watches them switch from orange to purple as the twin suns set in unison.

Something catches his eye in the corner of his vision.

That damn blue box. More of an indigo in this light. His heart drops to his stomach, because _this wasn’t right,_ because _she isn’t supposed to do this anymore._ Cursing under his breath, he moves to the door, swings it open, and gets ready to march out.

But she’s here, already. Unconscious on his doorstep.

He watches her for a moment; the rise and fall of her chest that promises him at least one of her hearts is still beating. She’s wet through, like she’s just walked through a storm to get here. Not unusual. She’s usually covered in something when she turns up like this — he’s just thankful it’s not blood.

He didn’t want to go through that again.

The Master crouches down by her limp body, carefully sweeps damp hair from her face. In the purple-orange light, she looks sick.

“What are you…” He frowns, prodding her with a finger. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even stir. “Doctor.”

He takes his finger and turns her wrist over gently, hoping, praying, that he wouldn’t see those familiar marks. The one’s that meant she was in more trouble than she was letting on.

No such luck. Clear as day, those three little scratches that might go unnoticed by her human friends but would _never_ slip past him.

With a sigh, he slips an arm under her waist and scoops her up off the floor. At least she was lighter to carry now than when she was a man. There were situations in the past where he’d seriously considered just leaving the Doctor to wake up alone rather than carry him somewhere safe.

He never did, though. Never left her, no matter what state she was in.

And he’d seen her in worse states than this.

He drops her onto the sofa with a little more force than necessary; grabs the blanket from under the coffee table and throws it over her.

“Sleep it off,” he mutters, turning to go back to the window, keeping an eye on the TARDIS. It wasn’t the safest of planets. She should know better than to park so far away from him.

She should know better, full stop.

“Master?” Her voice is more of a croak, but he hears her just fine. Doesn’t respond, though. At least not until she adds, “ _Please_.”

“Why are you here?” he snaps, moving towards her. He collapses onto the edge of the sofa, sitting just where her toes curl up against the blanket. “Why are you back, again?”

When she doesn’t reply, just sniffs uselessly into the blanket, he says, “What happened?”

“It was you,” she whispers, her eyes still squeezed shut. “It’s always you.”

That knocks the wind out of him. Knowing he did this.

“I know, I mess up,” he says, trying to keep the bite from his voice. “You’ve never been like… Like _this_ about it, though. You haven’t been here in months, I thought…” He swallows back his disappointment and says, bitterly, “I thought you were _better_.”

She opens her eyes to meet his. “I thought the same of you.”

“That’s not fair,” he spits, standing up suddenly to move away from the sofa, from her. “You can’t punish me for something I haven’t even _done_ yet. Do you understand how hypocritical you’re being?”

She props herself up with her elbow, wincing in pain. “Yeah. I do. Sorry.”

“Perhaps I should pop back a few thousand years. Tell that young, fresh-faced thing that he turns out to be a useless addict, how about that?”

That cuts her deep. He knew it would. He said it without thinking but he won’t take it back, not now, because she deserves it. Always the righteous one, always fighting for the _greater good_ , always so modest and kind and so damn _entitled_.

She leans forward, tucking her chin into her chest, pulling her knees up against her body like a child. She looks so broken like that. So young, so innocent. So terribly sad.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

He pressed his finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut and then quickly open again. She was infuriating, but he could never turn her away. He hated her for being so vulnerable like this. He hated himself for being the one that triggered it.

“Stop that,” he said, quietly. “Don’t do that.”

The Doctor looks up, slowly. Her face is tear-streaked. Strands of dark blonde hair stick to her wet cheeks. When she speaks, her voice is like a whisper. “You’re mad?”

“I’m not… Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He sits down again, closer to her, this time. His hands find hers and squeeze. He turns her right hand over again, traces the track lines on her wrist with the back of his thumb. “I’m disappointed.”

“That’s _worse,_ ” she chokes out, properly crying now. The Master feels her body shake with it, squeezes her hand tighter in his.

“I thought you were past this,” he says, eventually, but his voice is gentler this time. “I thought you worked hard to get past this. _I’m_ supposed to be the fuck up, that’s not…” He sighs, exasperated. “That’s not how you’re supposed to _be_ , Theta.”

“Don’t,” she says, eyes shut tight. “Please.”

“Doctor,” he corrects himself, fighting to stay calm, stay gentle. “You can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to keep seeing you like this, I…”

Her fingers intertwine with his. She runs her thumb over the back of his hand. She takes a deep breath, seems to calm for a moment, but then the flood comes. The dam breaks.

She feels everything, all at once.

“It’s so much worse than I…” The Doctor’s body shakes with sobs, throwing her forwards, pressing her face into her knees, balling her hands into fists. Her nails cut deep into the palms of her hands. “I’m not who I _thought_ … I never thought…”

“Okay, alright, come on.” The Master takes her hands in his, prises open her tightly balled fists, swipes the blood from her palms like he’s done a thousand times before. He pulls her body up into his, lets her curl up against him, strokes her back methodically.

“Everything has changed,” she sobs, heaving in huge ragged breaths. “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

His arms wrap around her, hold her closer. Their legs curl around one another until they’re just tangled limbs on an old leather sofa. She tucks her head under his chin, sobs into his chest until his shirt is as soaked as she is and there are no tears left to cry.

“You just keep going,” he says, like a whisper. “You’re the Doctor, that’s what you do. You just keep going, no matter what.”

The Master plants a kiss on her head, buries his face in her hair.

He can protect her from most things, but not himself. He can’t protect her from the future; can’t know where their timelines have crossed and where they’ve collided. He can’t protect her from the person he might become, as much as he wants to.

But he can keep his door unlocked. He can always keep a blanket on the coffee table. He can be there to hold her through it. He can build her up again, if she wants him to, when she _needs_ him to.

“Don’t leave me,” she says, with a sudden urgency as her fists grip his shirt. “Master—”

“I won’t go anywhere,” he says, with a sigh. “I’m right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for all the angst. More thirteen / master one-shots coming soon. 
> 
> Hope you're all staying safe and staying indoors. Big love.


End file.
